If the merchants at the heart of Lankhmar were too timid to venture out and open their shops, not so the common laborers who worked the riverfront. A line of sweaty, bare-chested workmen loaded barrels aboard a waiting bireme. A captain called commands to his crew. A teary-eyed girl, blond hair sparkling in the sunlight, blue cloak stirring about her like gossamer in the wind, waved a hanky at her sweetheart.
A half block eastward from the wharves on curvy Eel Street, Fafhrd used a thin gold ring to purchase a quantity of hot, buttered fish, which the pinch-faced old merchant carefully rolled in the stout, broad mint leaves that grew south of Lankhmar. At another shop across the road, he paid several tik-pennies for two loaves of bread and a round of pale cheese. For another tik-penny, the proprietor's wife offered him a worn cloth sack to carry his purchases.
At yet another shop, he bought an earthen jug and several beans of precious gahvey. Back at the wharves, he lingered for a final time inside a shop that sold ships' supplies, purchasing two pitch torches, an oil lamp, and a tinder box.
With his shopping in the sack slung over his shoulder, he made his way back to Crypt Court. The Mouser hailed him with a wave from a third-floor window.
Fafhrd beckoned his companion to join him by the fountain, where he spread out his feast. The fish, though cool, still smelled with a mouth-watering richness as he set them on the fountain's low wall. Next, he gathered handfuls of dry grass that grew between the court's flagstones and added bits of old twigs and rotten splinters of wood that he found in the shadows of the buildings. Using the tinderbox, he soon had a small fire going.
"You're in a good mood," the Mouser noted as he reached Fafhrd's side.
"I feel good," Fafhrd answered as he filled the jug he'd bought with water from the fountain. He placed it in the flames to boil and gestured toward the sack. "Carve us some cheese and slice the bread."
Lifting the cheese close to his hawkish nose, the Mouser inhaled deeply and let go a noisy sigh. Catsclaw came out of its sheath. Carving a thin slice, the Mouser popped it into his mouth, closed his eyes, and sighed again. Then, noticing Fafhrd's actions, his jaw gaped.
"Is that gahvey?" he asked eagerly.
Fafhrd nodded as he ground the precious black beans vigorously between his palms and sprinkled them into the jug of water. "Did you find us an apartment?"
"With a solid floor, as your Lordship requested," he said, carving a slice of bread. "But watch the stairs as you go up, and don't put any weight at all on the bannisters."
Leaning their backs against the fountain wall, they ate, savoring the minty butter-flavored fish, the strong cheese, and the fresh bread. When the gahvey was ready, they pulled it from the fire with gloved fingers and waited for it to cool sufficiently. They drank, passing the jar between them.
"We're not alone," Fafhrd whispered suddenly as he cast a subtle glance toward an upper-level window where a small face had appeared briefly and quickly disappeared.
"They're quick," the Mouser said, sipping the gahvey. "I noticed them earlier. I believe we've discovered where the city's street urchins spend their nights."
With a bite of bread at his lips, Fafhrd hesitated. He'd spent his own youth in the comparative luxury afforded by his mother's high station in the Cold Wastes. As the leader of the Snow Clan, and a Snow Witch herself, her tent had never lacked for heat, nor furs to wear, nor food to eat. In his own distant land, he was practically a prince.
Slowly he lowered the morsel from his mouth and placed it beside the remains of their meal. There was still some fish left, some bread, and plenty of cheese. Taking his own dagger, he carved the cheese and bread into neat slices and arranged it all along the fountain's wall.
"What are you doing?" the Mouser asked, setting the gahvey jar aside and reaching for another bite of fish.
Fafhrd rapped the Mouser's knuckles with the flat of the dagger's blade. "A good deed," he explained. "You've stuffed yourself enough. A fat partner will be useless to me later."
The Mouser stuck out his tongue. Then patting his stomach, he released a loud belch in Fafhrd's direction. "Speaking of useless," he said, pointing to his companion's other purchases, "why buy torches? The lantern will serve us well and safely come nightfall, but an unshielded firestick could send this entire court up in flames. And between us, I've seen enough fire for one day."
"The lantern's to light our newfound nest," Fafhrd said. "The torches are for another purpose." Without offering further explanation, he drained the last of the gahvey and rose to his feet. "I propose to sleep," he announced, stretching. "I think we have a long night ahead of us."
Still seated, the Mouser leaned back on his hands and regarded Fafhrd queerly. "I think you have some plan stewing in that fine brain of yours," he said.
"Leave the leftovers for the children," Fafhrd continued as if the Mouser had not spoken. Leaning over the fountain, he filled the jar with water. "And light the lantern now before I douse our little fire. There's oil enough in it to last."
Rising slowly, the Mouser shrugged. "Well, if we feed them a little now, maybe they won't try to knock us in the head while we sleep." Selecting a small burning twig from the fire, he touched it to the lantern's wick and lowered the perforated metal shield over the flame.
Fafhrd upended the jar. A loud hissing and sputtering followed as fire and water met. A cloud of steam and smoke boiled upward, and the air smelled of ash.
Again, Fafhrd thought of the splendid books in Sadaster's library, all lost to flames, and once more, he grieved. But when melancholy threatened to descend upon him, he fought it off with a little song.
With the fire extinguished and the lantern lit, they made their way out of the sunlight and into the gloom of the ramshackle building the Mouser had chosen for them. The wooden stairs creaked and shivered under their weight as they climbed to a third-floor apartment.
"Don't touch the bannister," the Mouser warned again, his voice automatically dropping to a whisper. He placed his palm on the once-ornate support to show how loose and rotten it had become.
"The finest suite in Lankhmar," Fafhrd said, frowning as he followed his partner into their rooms. Just past the threshold, a man-sized hole perforated the floor. Pausing, he peered down into the dirty rooms below, then stepped carefully around it, feeling the boards give menacingly beneath his every step. "I hope the rats appreciate such luxury."
The window allowed a commanding view of the court below. A pair of old shutters had been opened and pushed back against the outer wall. Seizing the right shutter by its latch, he eased it back and forth, testing its hinges. Metal protested noisily, then old wood sighed. The shutter came loose at the top and leaned outward away from Fafhrd's grasp. Its own weight too much, it pulled loose from the bottom and tumbled to the ground.
"I swear I can't take you anywhere," the Mouser said, placing the lantern in one corner on the floor and setting down the bag that contained the torches. "What will the landlord say?"
Fafhrd removed his sword, then spread his cloak upon the dusty floor. "Wake me if he wants to lodge a complaint," he said, curling up. Hugging the sheathed blade to his chest, he closed his eyes without another word, leaving the Mouser standing with hands on his hips, gaping open-mouthed.